Confinement 1: Escape Pod
by TheRimmerConnection
Summary: Blake and Avon have both piled into a oneman pod to escape from an exploding Federation ship. Unfortunately, it's a little on the tight side and it's far worse for Blake than it is for Avon. A little slashy, and probably getting more so by the chapter...


_Nothing of Blake's 7 is mine. I just wear Avon's clothes rather a lot. SO anything you recognise (including Avon's clothes) does not belong to me, and I am getting nothing out of this except the excitement of wondering what happens next :-D_**  
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**Chapter 1**

At last Blake couldn't stand it any longer, and he wriggled uncomfortably under Avon, trying to pull his dead arm into a better position for blood-circulation. Avon tilted his head slightly to the side, an irritable frown on his face.

'Do you mind?' he hissed, 'I'm going to have enough bruises when we get out of here, without you adding to them.'

Blake gave up his personal rearrangement and sighed,

'Okay, I won't move. I may lose my arm, but at least you'll be comfortable. Happy?'

'That's hardly the word I'd use.'

'Well, it could be worse,' said Blake, 'You could be stuck in here with Vila.'

Avon strained his neck round to look at him, he watched as Blake's face cracked into a broad grin and the tension broke.

'Ever the optimist. I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies,' Avon muttered, but with a touch more humour in his voice than had been evident before. Blake laughed,

You're safe enough with Vila. I'm not convinced even _he_ could get into your pockets.' Avon joined him in his laugh,

'Why? Have you tried?' There was a slight pause and a less light-hearted,

'No,' before Blake laughed again, 'But skin-tight leather is hardly the thief's friend, is it?'

Avon smiled, his teeth glinting in the half-darkness,

'I wouldn't know. I prefer the electronic approach.'

Blake shifted again, trying very hard not to, but feeling that if he didn't move soon, bits of him really were going to start falling off. It was all very well Avon moaning at him, but he wasn't the one stuck underneath. At least Avon wasn't too heavy, he suppressed a shudder as the image of being trapped under Gan flashed across his mind. He was loosing all feeling in his legs, his arm had been absent, presumed missing for several minutes, and he was getting severely overheated in his jacket and the confined space.

The escape pod itself was very definitely designed for one person only. Even then, bulky as he was, it wouldn't have been exactly comfortable for Blake on his own. With Avon squashed into the compartment with him – a notion that had seemed like a good idea with the Federation ship exploding around them – it was impossibly tight. Blake's knees were jammed against the two sides of the pod, his neck cricked forward by the headrest that had been designed for somebody shorter than him. That he had made it to the pod first had made Avon's usual talent for self-preservation seem diminished, but now it seemed that the smaller man had got the better deal. True, Avon's forehead was pressed against the perspex hood of the pod, taking all of the vibration, which would only get worse if they made it to a suitable planet for landfall; his knees too were jammed against the walls and his feet were planted firmly on the console so that if he moved them he was in danger of reprogramming the whole flight computer; and he was obviously, and increasingly pungently, far too hot in his layers of studded leather, but at least he didn't have a bony little posterior digging into his thighs, nor a leather-clad shoulder wedged just under his chin. Blake peered at the console, but he couldn't focus properly and the screen meant more to Avon than it did to him, so he asked,

'Well do you think you could use your electronic approach to find out how long we are likely to be stuck in here?'

Avon grunted a disinterested acknowledgement, they would land when they landed and in the meantime he was _trying_ to think, but reached out to the screen anyway. The movement drove the lower portion of him further back into Blake, pressing on his bladder, and Blake groaned: He hadn't thought about that until now. Avon ignored his groans and poked at the screen,

'As far as I can see, we are programmed to land on the nearest habitable planet. That appears to be a moon of Lythus Beta, approximately fifteen hours' travel away. Without a better computer I'm afraid I can't be any more accurate than that.

Blake's face fell in horror. Fifteen hours of this? It was no good. He was going to have to move or Avon was going to end up lying on a corpse mattress; if gangrene didn't get him, DVT would.

'Avon, I'm going to have to shift. I'm losing all feeling. I'm sorry.'

Avon took a deep breath, but the reality of Blake's words was unavoidable. Even Avon was getting severe cramps in both legs, against which he had been gritting his teeth for the last ten minutes.

'Alright. Move. But do try not to be as ham-fisted about it as you usually are.' He pushed himself off Blake as far as he could and held himself there while Blake pulled his arm across with the other and tried to rub some feeing back into his upper legs. By the time he had made himself ten percent more comfortable, Avon was shaking with the effort of holding himself up, and he breathed down at Blake,

'Have you quite finished?'

Blake slid his arms out to either side of Avon and braced himself,

'Yes, sit down. Sorry,' he added as an afterthought.

Avon's weight sank back onto his lap, a little further up this time, a persistent pressure on his bladder causing him some distress. He waited, while Avon's breathing returned to normal and his arms stopped shaking.

Blake's movement had actually increased the space available to Avon fractionally, and he eased his knees down a little, letting out a pained moan as they protested their inability to straighten completely.

Blake coughed a nervous, attention seeking, wallflower of a cough. Avon tilted his head back to see what he wanted, and his head rested on Blake's shoulder. Blake looked at him uncomfortably,

'Avon...this is very awkward...I need to go.'

Avon raised one eyebrow, as if considering the value of a remark regarding the lack of anywhere to go _to_, but seeing the look on Blake's face, he decided against it and merely said,

'There's a receptacle in the storage compartment next to your arm.' Blake rolled his eyes,

'Can you reach it? Because I certainly can't.' He demonstrated the impossibility of getting his arm into a position where he could open the compartment, and Avon batted his arm out of the way, opened the compartment and pulled out a plastic flask with a funnel neck. Blake looked at it over Avon's shoulder,

'Not very big, is it?'

'I trust you are referring to its capacity rather than its girth,' Avon said, smirking nastily. Blake ignored him, and snatched the flask. Avon stretched out his arms to relieve his shoulders and said,

'I imagine it is emptied and sterilised when you replace it in its holder in the storage compartment.'

'It had better be, if it's all the two of us have for fifteen hours. Excuse me.' He reached his hand down between Avon's legs, trying very hard not to come into contact with the warm leather encasing his groin, muttering apologies all the time. Avon seemed to find it more comfortable leaning on Blake's shoulder and had tilted his head back and closed his eyes, cutting himself off from what was going on around his crotch. The pretended privacy was a comfort to Blake, but the way Avon's cheek flashed large in the corner of his eye wasn't.

He managed to undo the fastening of his trousers and do what he had to. Avon seemed completely oblivious to the rushing watery sounds and the slight moan of pleasure that Blake couldn't stop himself making as the terrible pressure was relieved. Blake tucked himself away and refastened his clothing, then he coughed again. Avon didn't open his eyes, but said quietly,

'Not in my ear.' He looked as if he was settling down to sleep – not a bad idea, all things considered. Blake looked at the flask in his hand. and then at Avon's closed eyes: tough.

'Avon...Avon, wake up.' Avon opened one eye half-way and regarded Blake with disinterest,

'Why?'

'Because I am holding a bottle of urine which will start to stink if it doesn't go back in that cupboard. I need you to put it back for me.' He expected a complaint or a sarcastic remark, but Avon shrugged, lifted his head off Blake's shoulder and took the flask, putting it carefully away in the compartment. A hissing sound as he closed the door on it suggested that his theory had been correct. Blake felt an unwelcome thrill of relief as Avon's head settled back on his shoulder. He wanted to stop him going back to sleep, he himself was not tired enough to nod off just yet and he didn't fancy sitting here contemplating Avon's sleeping form, it was too risky. He tried for a conversation,

'Look, I know the toilet arrangements aren't ideal, but I'm going to have to have a drink soon, come what may, it's stifling in here.'

'It's not designed to recycle the air fast enough for two. I should think it will keep us alive, but only just.'

'We'd better not do anything too energetic then,' Blake smiled and watched as Avon's eyes hooded over into his familiar inscrutable tempter's look,

'Well now, what did you have in mind?' asked Avon, 'With you jammed down there and me wedged up here I presume you weren't considering athletic pursuits to pass the time?'

Blake couldn't think of an answer that wasn't dangerously suggestive for such cramped surroundings, so he changed the subject,

'Aren't you too hot in that top?' he asked. Avon considered for a moment, the way Blake's nostrils were wrinkling alerted him to the real thrust of the question. He nodded,

'As a matter of fact, I am, but if you're looking for something that's not too energetic to do, I would say that getting out of it in a space as tight as this does not count.'

Blake shook his head,

'I think it will improve matters in the long-run. I'll help you.'

'Very well.'

Avon started to undo the studs that ran across his chest, fastening the lancer front of his jacket. Without asking, Blake started to undo the studs lower down on his side, until Avon shot him such a dirty look that he let go as if he'd been burnt,

'I'm only trying to help,' he explained,

'I am perfectly capable of undoing those. It's only getting the thing off that's going to be problematical.' He finished pulling at the studs and peeled back the two sides of the tunic. Wafts of hot, sweat-laden air billowed out of it and he tried to shrug it back off his shoulders, but he couldn't get enough room to move his arms far enough around.

'Can I help _now_?' Blake asked, trying to keep his voice innocent. Avon nodded and pushed himself back off Blake, who grabbed the shoulders of the offending garment and tugged. The leather sleeves slid down to Avon's biceps, but that was as far as they would go at the same time. Putting his arm up in front of his face to support Avon's back, he held his shoulder and pulled the right sleeve down his arm. Avon wriggled his way out of it and Blake swapped his supporting arm so that he could pull at the other sleeve. With the tunic heaped on his left, Blake brought his arms back to the side, and Avon collapsed onto his chest with a thump.

'Thank-you,' he said, sounding as if he actually meant it. Blake smiled and stuffed the tunic behind his headrest,

'Any time,' he replied.

Avon settled himself back on Blake's shoulder, closing his eyes, and Blake frowned,

'I thought you had problems sleeping?' Avon shuffled into a more comfortable position, though with his knees still up above his waist, this wasn't saying much,

'I do. I hardly ever manage a whole hour.' He yawned, his mouth unashamedly wide open and it occurred to Blake, as he gave into his own yawn, that it was possibly the only time he had ever seen Avon's jaw open that far – he hadn't been aware he was capable of it. Avon finished his yawn and opened a lazy eye,

'But unless you have any better ideas of ways to pass the time, I am going to close my eyes and get some thinking done. I would appreciate you not babbling on.' This last bit was not said unkindly, but was firm enough to let Blake know he meant it. He ignored it,

'What would constitute better ways?' Avon sighed,

'Why ask me?'

'Okay, how about working out a way to get us out of here more quickly?'

'I have already told you; without a better computer I cannot do anything about our situation, and unless you happen to have one concealed in your ridiculously voluminous sleeves, you will have to put up with it.'

'You don't mind being stuck in here? I would have expected you to be rather angrier with me. It is, after all, my fault that we are in here.' Another great sigh and Avon rubbed his face with his hand,

'Yes, well it seems to be one of the hazards of allowing myself to do what you want, to end up in deadly, confined, or otherwise inconvenient circumstances. Since this falls largely into the second category, rather than the first, I have resigned myself to it. Besides, I'm not as uncomfortable as all that. I am in a rather better position than you, I have spent time in much more cramped positions while trying to get at electronic circuitry which has been...shall we say, inconveniently positioned, and if you stop chattering, I might actually be able to get some work done without the inane questions that seem to be unavoidable every five minutes while I am on board the _Liberator_. Anyway, I may not approve of everything you do, Blake, but I will admit that you make a remarkably comfortable pillow.'

Blake gave a half-smile that he couldn't quite bring up to a full one. He watched as Avon shut his eyes again and he waved his hands at himself. At present, he was holding them against the walls of the pod, about six inches above Avon, but they were starting to ache terribly, and he had enough aches in the rest of his body, without that as well. He brought them down and gently laid them across Avon, clasping his hands on the black cotton clinging to his flat, muscular stomach, a stomach that felt very different to his own, more rotund example. He expected a protest, but he didn't get one - just a growled,

'Mmmph.' that could have been anything from a complaint to a signal of pleasure, but which, given what Blake knew of Avon, tended towards the latter.

'Careful Avon, you almost sounded contented then,' Blake said, wanting to kick himself the moment he'd said it. Why couldn't he just leave it alone? But Avon was smiling...no, actually, laughing. His laughter filled the tiny space, but sucked more of the air out of commission, until they were both wheezing and sucking at the thin atmosphere, Avon glanced round and saw Blake watching him from half-closed eyes, a wary look on his face, the remains of his smile left his face, and he pushed back into him, grinding his ischia into Blake's legs as he doubled himself forward,

'I will see if I can get this charming little device to produce more oxygen. I do not wish to suffocate every time I am mildly amused by your idiocy.'

Blake grimaced as Avon's pelvis dug further into his legs as he started to prod at the computer,

'Avon, can you take some of the pressure of my thighs, please?' Avon grunted and ignored him, Blake slid his hand back from where they were resting loosely around Avon's middle, and forced them under Avon's bottom, lifting him a little. He gave a sigh of relief and lay back, moving his fingers to keep the blood moving, waiting for Avon to yell at him. Instead, Avon muttered from between teeth even more clenched than usual,

'If you wriggle your fingers like that, that close to my groin, I will not be answerable for the consequences. Either stop it, or put me down.'

'If anything of that sort happened, I'd be as likely to think it was that damned computer as anything I'd done.'

Avon whirled round on him,

'Well, you'd be wrong.' Blake could almost swear he coloured up slightly, but he turned back to his work, his familiar scowl back on his face, before Blake could check. Nevertheless, Blake kept his fingers still, feeling them go numb under the continued pressure of Avon's buttocks.

Minutes ticked by while Avon detached the casing of the controls and lifted out the workings of the underlying computer. Drawing a silvery, stick-like instrument from his boot, he prodded at it for a few minutes, before turning a dial and flicking a switch. The quality of the air improved noticably in seconds, and Avon replaced the cover, a smug look of satisfaction on his face,

'I think we will find the atmosphere more comfortable now. I can't imagine why I didn't do that to start with. Now, I am going to stretch my legs before they give up on me entirely.'

Blake looked at him in puzzlement,

'Just how do you expect to do that?' Avon raised his eyebrows at him and turned onto his side. He curled his back around, sliding his head down towards his feet and sighed luxuriously as his knees straightened fully. Clutching his ankles he groaned a guttural demonstration of pure pleasure, of which Blake, with his aching back and cramping legs, was seethingly jealous...or would have been, had he not had Avon's hip hovering an inch from his cheek.

Avon unbent slowly and returned to his former position,

'How come you can do that?' asked Blake longingly,

'Have you ever tried to reach the inside of a Z86 Pergradia computer installed in the back of the storage levels of a ship you're not supposed to be on in the first place?'

'I can't say I have, no,' said Blake.

'Then you will not understand the necessity for agility that comes with my particular field of work.'

He sank back down, nestled his head into the side of Blake's neck, and closed his eyes once more. This time Blake remained silent, and he was astonished to hear Avon's breathing slowing down and to see his face relaxing to a rather appealing neutral state. Not wanting to wake him if he really was asleep, but not willing to believe it, he called softly,

'Avon? Are you asleep?' There was no reply, not even a grunt. Well, well, well; it appeared that Avon trusted him today. He let his hands drop softly onto Avon's clasped in his lap, allowing himself, just for a few seconds, to stroke the soft flesh at the base of his thumb. It was stupid, he knew, but then Avon had never praised him for his common sense, so one more demonstration couldn't do him any harm. A spasm of cramp shot down his leg and he yelled and tried to straighten it, his big hands clamping round Avon's like a vice.

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_A/N: My head is currently awash with B7 plotbunnies, but they are all a little mixed up and in need of untangling. All reviews are extremely welcome and may well help to sort out my tangle!  
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